


Steve Rogers et al.

by Darklady



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Being a Bum, Classic Cars, Gen, Stark Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:24:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darklady/pseuds/Darklady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>or<br/>Steve Gets His Flying Car<br/>or<br/>Whadda you mean Class-Action? We never had any class, and only Bucky got any action.<br/>* * * * *<br/>Elidfics wrote a story. It was long ago, and I liked it then, but I just reread it and liked it even more. Thus?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steve Rogers et al.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elidfics](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Elidfics).
  * Inspired by [Hess v. Stark, et al.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/813059) by [Ellidfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellidfics/pseuds/Ellidfics). 



Elidfics wrote :

 _“OSCAR Hess, on behalf of himself and all_  
others similarly situated,  
Plaintiffs,  
v.  
Civil Action #82-616  
STARK INDUSTRIES, LLC, successor in interest to  
STARK MOTOR CAR COMPANY, INC., STARK  
INDUSTRIES, INC., STARK AERONAUTICS, INC.,  
and HOWARD A. STARK, JR., individually,  
Defendants“

(The outcome. IMHO)

* * * * * * *  
“Gentlemen of the SSR, and you too Miss Lorraine.” Tony Stark blew a kiss to the elderly woman seated in the front row. She was as thin and bent as one would expect of a spry 90 year old but her hair was still yellow blond and the curls were as starched as they had been in her SSR days. “Friends and relatives and all you hangers on that just came for the food.” He pointed at Nick Fury, seated in the back row. “Yes, I know you just snuck in for the shrimp wraps.”

“Welcome to Stark Motor Car Companies latest and – let me assure you – very LAST settlement of the infamous ‘Flying Car’ lawsuit.” Tony held out his hand, a gesture of pure theater. “Let me introduce my lovely assistant and CEO, Ms. Pepper Potts.”

“Thank you Mr. Stark.” Pepper strode out from the wings, a clatter of high fashion and very high heels. “Thank you, as the remaining members of Civil Action 82-616, for coming to today’s settlement. I hope you had a pleasant trip, and that you enjoyed the buffet. I assure you that the open bar was all Tony’s fault.”

“Hey! Stark tradition!” came the automatic protest. “Plus, “ he waved at the audience, “you guys wouldn’t believe this was Stark if we didn’t have hooch. Right?”

Cheers and laughter came from the crowd. Which was pretty much why Tony had used that line.

“Not now, Tony” Pepper Potts hissed.

The laughter got louder.

“I know what you are all here for, and it’s not snappy patter from our beloved…,” Pepper rolled her eyes at that word, and Tony mocked a frown. “Our mature and delightful head of R &D.” Dropping the comedy, she stepped forward. “In the FBI/CIA/NIS search of Stark Industries properties which followed the HYDRA disclosure several items of interest were discovered.” She held up her hands until the chatter subsided. “I am not, in this case, referring to the telepathic bomb in the Catskills, the four no-longer-lost Di Vinci notebooks in Montana, or that very interesting saucer-shaped craft that the Air Force has so far refused to return to Stark Aeronautics.”

She shot a hand signal to Happy Hogan, waiting just in front of the velvet curtain.

“I am referring to the three prototype repulsor-equipted automobiles from the New Jersey antique shop which Howard Stark – for reasons which I’m sure were purely Howard Stark – did not tell Stark Industries about.”

Happy yanked the cord. The curtain fell. Behind them, posed and lit on individual pillars, sat three cars. Their lines were dated, but their paint jobs (red, white, and midnight blue respectively) were shining new.

“As you can see, Stark Industries hired West Coast Customs to fix up the shells and our own tech crew…” She pointed into the audience. A dozen guys in Stark logoed shirts stood, looking embarrassed and proud. “Volunteers from our engineering crew have tuned up the working parts.” 

There were more cheers, enough that she had to wait before continuing.

“That said, the Legal Department wants me to state again that we are not guaranteeing the road capability, suitability, endurance, or ability to pass local smog check requirements of any of these vehicles. Actual flying is also something you will have to take up with the FAA, who has also insisted that I specifically state that no drivers license authorizes operation of any air vehicle – not even flying cars – and that once the wheels leave the ground you better have filed a flight plan and be holding a valid license for experimental craft.”

Several good-natured boos rose from the audience. Most of the surviving SSR were past the age when the FAA pulled pilot licenses, and even the slightly-younger were at the point of annual eye exams even to stay on the road.

“So. Without further delay.”

March music filled the room as four dancers in Ironette costume guided a giant red-and-gold rhinestone bingo barrel to center stage.

“The State Board of Lotteries has sent a representative to assure that all your names have gone into the bin, and – because we wanted someone completely trustworthy – we have the SSR’s own CAPTAIN STEVE ROGERS here to pull the tickets. Steve?”

Steve Rogers trotted out from stage left. He was wearing jeans and a white button-down, but he was still unmistakably The Captain. “Thank you Miss Potts.”

He blushed faintly as she gave him a peck on the cheek before leaving him alone on stage. “You guys all still do trust me, right?”

The auditorium roared with the reply.

“OK then.” He reached deep into the barrel. “Car number one – that’s the red one - goes to....” he waited a three-beat “Mr. D. Manelli. You with us, Dino?”

The last question was pro-forma as Mr. Manelli was already heading up the aisle. He was making pretty good time for a guy with a walker.

“Still not using your first name, I see.”

“Hey”, he shot back, the tones of Little Italy still strong in his voice, “At least I’m using my last. Unlike some Captains I won’t name.”

Steve Rogers waited patiently until the man was all the way to the spotlight point before handing over the giant cardboard key.

The red sedan had been lowered and rotated so it rested right behind Steve. The real key was already inside, and the engine purred with the quiet hum of a perfectly turned machine.

“Watch out for the traffic cops,” Steve joshed as two dancers helped Manelli into the passengers seat. “I hear they like giving tickets to hot-rodders.”

Dino Manelli waved to the cheering crew as a valet in Stark-Red vest drove him off stage.

“That’s our first lucky winner.” Steve had to repeat the line several times to get the audience to quiet down. “Now for car number two, which is that sleek little white model.”

It was actually more of an embedded flake coat, and flashed though the rainbow as pin-spots moved over the lacquered surface. More ‘modern’ than the previous model, in this car the windows were large and low enough to show the scarlet leather interior.

He pulled out the second card and frowned. “Angie Martinelli? Huh. Must be after my time.”

That earned yet another laugh from the cheerful listeners, a laugh that grew louder as - spotting the gray-haired lady rising from the third row – Steve dramatically clutched his heart. “Ohhh. A young one.”

When Angie Martinelli reached him he added, cheating sideways to be heard. “You have to forgive me, I’m no good talking with a beautiful woman.”

“So Peggy told me.”

“Oh. Wounded!” 

She gave him a quick hug before he helped her into the driver's seat.

Under her command the car hopped a few times, repulsors flaring blue, before she gave up and drove away with all four tires on the ground.

“Dames. Always cutting out on me.”

She must have heard, because she tossed him a kiss just before her fender vanished out into the New York sunshine.

“And now for the third and final ticket. Is everybody ready?”

“Yes!” 

“Gee, Steve.” Tony Stark was back, riding down on the third car. “I’m not sure I heard them.” He faced the audience. “He asked, ARE YOU READY?”

If sound were weaponized, the room would have evaporated under sheer impact.

“OK then. Lets see who gets this pretty baby.”

The car was gorgeous – a head-turner flight or no flight. Unlike the previous two the blue auto was a convertible, sleek and looking aerodynamic even without repulsors. The interior was ivory white and the fittings chrome gold. Tiny gold stars decorated the folded top.

Steve Rogers reached deep into the barrel. “Today’s final winner of the ‘Howard Stark Didn’t Actually Talk You Out of Your Pay’ sweepstakes is…” Steve looked at the card. He staggered back a step. He read the card again. “Bucky Barnes?”

“DAMNIT BUCKY!” Steve tossed the cardboard key shield-style. It bounced off two walls, a pillar, and the ceiling before smacking the dark-haired man in the back of the head. “ THAT WAS MY LAST TWENTY BUCKS YOU TOOK! YOU SAID YOU NEEDED THAT MONEY FOR YOUR SISTER!”

 **“Sorry, Steve.** ” Bucky Barnes swung lightly from the upper balcony, heading for the door and escape.

“NOT AS SORRY AS YOU’RE GOING TO BE, JERK!” Steve launched himself over the audience.

**“Gotta catch me first, punk!”**

“WHO YOU CALLING PUNK, PUNK!”

Tony Stark looked at Pepper Potts, who looked at Happy Hogan, who looked back at his boss. Tony shrugged and looked back at the car. “I guess that means we get to keep this one after all.”

©KKR 2015


End file.
